Carpe Diem
by AlexHamato
Summary: Seize the day.


_In the feels_...

_I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Nickelodeon does._

* * *

A sun rises over the mountain range. Morning light welcomes the day to come and says farewell to the solemn night. The man raises his eyes to the pink flush of the sky and smiles to himself, noticing the splashes of orange that trace inside the new clouds. It will be a good day.

"Time to ready the tea," he says.

The man stands, joints creaking. Old wounds never left him. Like memories, they woke with him every day and settled down to sleep with him every night. He walks with an easy grace, muscles warming up to the sun, and busies himself with preparing a set of tea for four.

The time to pour the tea had not yet come. They still had time.

So he waits.

* * *

The years are slipping though his fingers like a fine wine slides down the throat. Not that this man drinks wine, no, he takes his liquor hard. Something with a kick that fights as hard as he does. To fight is to age; and this man has fought his entire life.

"Too damn old to be climbing up a mountain," he says.

The oblivious forest does not respond. As the man makes his way up the mountainside, he catches glimpses of retreating woodland life. A few birds here, a young deer there, and an endless cascade of chattering insects. An orange-backed beetle catches his eye. He looks away.

Reminds him of how much he hates bugs.

So he climbs.

* * *

There is always a place for him to be. Ukraine. Afghanistan. Johannesburg. Sydney. Washington. Saudi Arabia. Hong Kong. And now he is to be in Nagano, Japan. The man is not too busy, just busy enough to keep his mind occupied. He can never be bored. The man hates to be bored.

"I hope he isn't late this time. I hate to wait long. There is no reception out here," he says.

A bird responds with a twitter, hopping down to a lower branch to pick at an orange berry with a hungry vigor. It is such a pain for him to walk through the mountain, so early in the morning. His ciradian rhythm prevents him from waking peacefully before noon on any day, even this one.

This day he will not be busy, but content.

So he smiles.

* * *

They come at noon.

"Glad you two could make it," Leonardo says. He watches as they duck under his low-hanging doorframe, smiling as the tallest of them hits his head and curses.

"I would fire the architect who designed this shack," he complains, "This is what you choose over one of my many beach houses? I'm insulted."

"I like the peace and quiet out here, Don. I don't want to live the high life, as you seem to prefer."

Donatello shrugs and, as per custom, settles himself around the short table with a lazy ease.

Raphael does not sit down.

Leonardo pours the drinks. Four glasses. Three mouths.

"Did you enjoy your journey here?" he asks.

"I just spent a month in the bottom of an oil rig to get here. What do you think?" Raphael is watching the _sake_ being poured with a hungry desire. "I've been staying dry."

"Surprising, being as you live in the Florida Everglades," Don breaks in, "Tell me, Raph, does crocodile gumbo serve as your main diet? Or do you pepper your pallet with some catfish casserole?"

Raph laughs, sitting down with a well-aimed slap to the back of his brother's head. "If you ever decide to stop scamming underground crime lords, come by my swamp and I'll make some up for you. Make you into a real man."

"Does this mean that you're skipping this year? It's his thirtieth. You know how he hates missing out on parties." The _sake_ bottle is placed back on the table. The four glasses full.

"Fine, fine. I can't say no when you sweet talk me like that, Leo. I'll take a drink."

Three hands reach out to grab a glass. They raise their toasts, meeting in the center with a holler of, "_Carpe Diem_!"

* * *

The party lasts throughout the night.

Raphael does not stay dry for long, getting too wrapped up with his rivalry with Donatello as he forces himself to match shot with shot.

The music that reverberates in the thin, bamboo walls brings the atmosphere up to a happy buzz. Boff Whalley sings out of the cheap speakers as Leonardo wails along, off tune.

"_I get knocked down, but I get up again! You're never going to keep me down!"_

The brothers howl with laughter, holding up themselves as each one of them threatens to topple over. All eyes are hazed and bright, not taking notice of the final glass remaining, untouched. They share in the merrymaking, exchanging lyrics with one another.

Raphael pushes forward, knocking his brothers down as he bellows out, "_I drink a whiskey drink! Fuck the vodka drink! I'll take the Lager drink, and piss away the cider drink!" _

Donatello throws both arms around each brother and hiccups, "Is this my part? I think I'm going to vomit." Duo cheers egg-on the drunken man as he grins crookedly at the familiar female chorus that comes up and bellows, "_Oh, Donny boy! Donny boy! Donny boy!" _

Cascades of partially digested liquor spew onto the floor and each other, too oblivious in their own stupor to take notice as they sing and dance the night away.

For this night, is a night to seize and live.

* * *

Leonardo is the first to wake.

He cleans what he can; himself and his brothers with damp rags that he soaked in the rain barrels outside his home. They stir at the cold water, but do not wake. The man hums a cheery tune to himself as the day begins to wake, already ahead of his slumbering brothers.

Most of the night was a blurred haze, with blank segments corrupting his memory, but he doesn't mind. This year is the same as the last. And the last. And the last of the last.

Ten long years.

The low-standing table is covered with discarded wrappers. Twinkies. Slim Jims. Juice boxes.

Next time, he will make sure to bring a few pizzas and some diet coke to wash it down.

Leonardo kneels, cleaning away the trash. Four glasses remained. Standing.

The man closes his eyes and breathes. Listens to his brothers wake.

"Did he make it?"

Leonardo opens his eyes to look.

"Of course he made it. Mikey would never miss his own birthday party."

All glasses are empty.

* * *

**A/N - In the feels...**


End file.
